Chapter Fifteen
Eviction Notice
Dane was sleeping on Uncle George’s boat. Uncle George wouldn’t be needing it anytime soon, as he wasn’t due for parole for another three to five years. Besides, the thought of driving back to Naughton, leaving Brooke alone in Maddox with only Quirt to protect her, left him unsettled.
Dropping Brooke off at home, he’d gone in for a good-night kiss and then lurched backward when he remembered: no good-night kiss for him.
Oh, that blasted ethics hearing couldn’t come soon enough.
Well, unless it happened on the sixteenth. Then he’d be sunk.
Either way he wouldn’t be Brooke’s lawyer after the sixteenth. He might not be her anything.
The ring in his pocket pressed against his skin as he finished shaving and pulled on a shirt.
He spent the morning researching, while she worked a half shift at Maddox Regional. He shoved thoughts of Ballard v. Insura-Care from his mind every time they invaded. It could be months, years maybe, before he had the luxury of working at Tweed Law— or any other law firm, for that matter— again.
Weird how much a person could miss a job they no longer had. He even missed the flickering fluorescent blue lights he’d said just last week were sucking the life out of him.
The boat had no internet and no printer, so he’d agreed to meet Brooke at the Maddox County Library as soon as she got off work.
When she walked in, she’d changed from her scrubs and had her hair down in dark brown waves at her shoulders. Her eyes sparked when she saw him, like he could flip her switch.
She definitely flipped his switch.
“Hey, there.”
“Hey, there yourself.” She came and sat by him, close but not nearly as close as he would have liked. He would have taken her right on his lap.
Oh, right. None of that. Not today.
The tension was killing him.
“I’m looking for anything on Jarman, right?” Brooke said as her hand ruffled her long brown hair, making it waterfall over her shoulder, silk across her skin. “Because, like I said before, there’s not much.”
Dane shook himself. He’d have to seriously concentrate if he was going to get anything done. No fooling around. Besides, the countdown to Tuesday ticked louder and louder.
Those kisses yesterday in his Dodge had made him hungrier for her than the passionate kissing of the night before in her car— something he wouldn’t have expected.
Passion. It wasn’t going to be satiated when it came to Brooke Chadwick. Feeding it would only fuel it, like a fire, not quell its need.
“Try searching for LaBarge, then.” Dane forced himself back to the pressing problem instead of his own personal pressing problem of getting hot and bothered with the girl of his dreams sitting beside him in the library. “That’s an avenue we haven’t explored. What’s old Sarge’s angle? What’s he got to gain by dogging the ball? Other than the monetary value, I mean.”
“He might just be an insatiable wealth addict.”
There was that word again. Speaking of insatiable, Brooke’s creamy white skin looked prettier than ever in the glow of the library’s low lighting. He reached for her, and then he pulled back. He’d have to wait, push back his desire for her at least for a few more days. Get through this case. Prove that he was her hero.
Then he’d take what he’d earned.
Or he’d take his shame to his ethics trial and slink away from her life forever, the Rockwell he’d always known himself to be.
“Uh, keep looking. LaBarge,” he said, and turned back to his own research on the precedents of cases involving holographic wills in Virginia courts, as well as admissibility of photographs of handwriting. Yeah, he’d have to subpoena the bowling alley. He put that on his task list.
Handwriting experts and deviations from the standard swirled in his mind.
Gravity tugged at the ring in his pocket. He’d never stopped carrying it there. Force of habit. Force of hope.
__________
Brooke scrolled through the search results of a combination of the terms “LaBarge” and “Jarman.” There weren’t many. She glanced over at Dane, so engrossed in his research. He looked even better when he was hard at work.
Whether he’d chosen it because of her dad’s influence or because he’d always wanted to work in law, it truly suited him. Especially when he wore a suit, she thought and then shook herself back to her task. No letting her thoughts stray to how utterly smoking hot Dane Rockwell was, suit or no suit.
Wait. That didn’t sound right.
She’d better focus and search again.
But her fingers typed in Dane’s name instead, just like when she’d written it five million times next to her own in her junior high notebooks.
Results popped up for the “LaBarge Dane Rockwell” search— and Brooke’s eyes about popped out of her head.
Lawyer Assaults LaBarge’s Son-in-Law. Weird. LaBarge’s son-in-law would be Ames.
She clicked on the link. Holy Hannah. Dane’s mug shot peered out at her from the page.
“Dane?” she whisper-gasped as she scanned the crime-brief article in disbelief.
“Yeah?” he said, absently from beside her. She hadn’t meant for him to hear her.
Naughton attorney Dane Rockwell, associate at Tweed Law and graduate of the University of Virginia, arrested for assaulting Dr. Ames Crosby, son-in-law of Sarge LaBarge at a highbrow event Friday evening. The occasion was the newlyweds’ debut in society after their wedding in St. Thomas. Security claims Rockwell evaded their guards by misrepresenting himself, and attacked Crosby, allegedly in a disagreement over another woman, though not Sarge LaBarge’s daughter, Mrs. Charli Crosby.
Brooke read with a burning thirst as it went on.
No statement was obtained from the alleged perpetrator, but the victim asserts that he will not press charges, on grounds of, “I deserved it.”
Brooke’s breathing had sped up with every line. How had she not heard about this? She might hyperventilate right here in the Maddox County Library.
“Are you kidding me?” Shaking, she tugged at Dane’s arm. “You? You did this? It says you punched LaBarge’s son-in-law. At a party. And that he didn’t press charges.”
“That son-in-law deserved it.”
Yeah, that’s what the article said. And that the altercation revolved around a woman, not Charli LaBarge.
Brooke.
In two seconds flat, Brooke’s arms were around his neck, her fingers entwined in the back of his hair, and she was on his lap, about to give him the kiss of her life, when the librarian came over and cleared her throat.
“Excuse me. This is a public library.”
Brooke jumped off his lap to her feet. “I’m sorry, ma’am. But if you knew what he’d done for me, you would understand.”
The librarian just nodded and asked them to leave. They gathered their things and went out to the car.
“I’ll go around decking doctors all day long, if that’s the reaction I’m going to get every time.”
That was a close call. Did the no-kissing rule include no public lap-sitting as well? Probably. She was skirting the line of her own boundaries here.
But…Dane! “I can’t believe you, Dane.” She pressed her side up against his as they walked to the truck.
“What, are you disappointed in me? You got mad last time Quirt and I got into ‘fisticuffs,’ as your Pastor Walden called them.” Snark laced his tone.
“Disappointed?” She half-laughed. “Did I act disappointed just now?”
“Like I say, I have a mean left-hook that itches for doctors’ chins, and if it buys steamy moments with you, it’s at your service all the danged day.”
Danged. She liked that he said danged. And they probably weren’t welcome at the library again anytime soon.
They got in the Dodge. “Just before you nearly attacked me, I got this email.” He held out a printout for her to read.
“A handwriting expert? As close as Chincoteague?” That wasn’t far at all. In fact, it was just across the Chesapeake Bay. “But do you think he’s someone LaBarge will have on his radar?”
“That’s still an unknown,” Dane said, his voice grave. “You’ll have to feel him out. Use your charm.”
“Me!” Alone?
“Unless I’m officially your lawyer, I’m going to have to keep my distance from it.”
Nerves alight, Brooke nodded. “Where and when do I meet him?”
“Sometime after you get a copy of the will’s addendum.”
Oh, and Dane couldn’t go with her to procure that, either.
This was all going to be worth it. She had to keep reminding herself.
__________
Dane gripped the steering wheel as he watched Brooke go up the steps into Fawn & Zimmerman to get a copy of the will. And it wasn’t just because of the very fetching sway of her hips in that skirt and heels.
Mostly, he writhed with self-loathing that he couldn’t go with her, due to his suspension. And with loathing of that selfish harpy Mrs. Jackson.
They’d better not give Brooke any hassle just because she showed up without legal counsel. Fawn & Zimmerman could be cutthroat.
“Without the will, we don’t have a comparison point for the handwriting.” He’d tried to state it calmly, matter-of-factly. But inside him a tornado spun. If Sarge LaBarge had already wormed his way into Fawn & Zimmerman to block them from forking over the will to Brooke, her task today could be tough. Or impossible.
He flipped on the radio to the classical station to try to calm his nerves as she disappeared inside, but it was the opera hour, and they were featuring heavy Gustav Mahler.
Dane shut it off.
Sergeant Faro LaBarge was a weasel. Why did he even want the Called Shot Ball? Dane had seen the guy’s mansion. Expansive— sitting right on the Naughton River, complete with a yacht and a tennis court and a hedge labyrinth. He clearly had money to burn. So what if he had another six-figure possession? Drop in the bucket.
Without an actual verification of the handwriting in the addendum, all they had left going for them was the fact that Brooke had possession of the ball. And, as the saying went, possession is nine-tenths of the law.
Not comforting.
Dane looked at his white knuckles gripping the wheel and told himself to breathe. Just breathe. Brooke would either get a copy of the will or she wouldn’t. Meanwhile, he felt like a stupid millstone. He couldn’t help her. And he might even drag her down, what with those ridiculous charges tainting his reputation.
Eternity couldn’t have passed more slowly. He chewed on a thumbnail.
Huh. Time crawled, not just because she was in there and he sat out here, but because she wasn’t with him. He’d been spending every day with her, and he’d grown accustomed to having her near his side.
I’m getting addicted to her.
Since he no longer had to slave away every day, all day long at Tweed Law, he’d had nothing else on his mind but Brooke Chadwick. Brooke’s legal case. Brooke’s family’s museum. Brooke’s future. What time Brooke got off work. Whether she’d eaten yet. What she might wear. How her next kiss might feel, each one feeling brand new.
He drummed his fingers on the steering wheel. He’d get another shot at kissing her, right?
One cool thing about Brooke, she’d never even brought up The Relationship Talk with Dane. No relationship pressure came at him from her, ever. It was one of the things that made her so appealing— she was the lone flower blooming on the hillside, not the one by the road catching the dust of every passing traveler.
The women he’d dated always insisted on having relationship talks with him. Sometimes on the first date. They tried to rope him in all the blasted time. But not Brooke.
His breathing became uneven. He had to have her, like a drug. No, he needed Brooke like Brooke needed clear ownership of the Called Shot Ball.
Knock, knock, knock. A rap sounded on the window of his truck, and he turned, rolling it down fast.
“Hey, there, Mr. Dane Rockwell. Is that you?”
Oh. That woman Brooke knew from church and Maddox. The hairdresser with the gossip addiction. Speaking of addictions.
“Hi. It’s Pansy, right?”
Her hand flew to her throat. “You remembered. Wow. That’s …”
Dane sent a glance toward Fawn & Zimmerman. Brooke would be coming out any second.
“So, wow. I usually just see you in Maddox, but here you are in Naughton. Wow.”
“Right. The big city.” He tried to will her away. “Nice to see you again. Have a great—”
But she interrupted. “So, you and Brooke Chadwick, huh?”
This snared him. “Uh …” He didn’t know whether she had information or whether she was fishing.
“Because it’s funny. I remember that steamy kiss in church right after she got engaged to Dr. Crosby.” She fanned herself. “I thought I’d burn up right there in the chapel. And now, everyone says they keep seeing the two of you together at little league practices and things.”
“Our teams scrimmage.” He refused to offer this person any more ammo for her arsenal. He started up the truck, but he couldn’t exactly drive away and strand Brooke at the law office of F&Z, who were probably gnawing on her soul in there right now.
“Oh, is that all it is? Then I guess you won’t mind that good old Dr. Ames Crosby is heading out of ‘the big city,’ as you call it, and moving back to his hometown of Maddox to open an urgent care next to the Piggly Wiggly.”
Dane’s mouth might have twitched. He looked past this Pansy person’s head into the distant trees. “I’m sure Dr. and Mrs. Crosby will get a warm welcome in Maddox.” Not. Not after the way he’d treated Brooke, their town beauty pageant princess. They’d probably string him up. Or even better, boycott his business.
Pansy glanced down at her purple fingernails. “Oh, there isn’t going to be a Mrs. Crosby. Didn’t you hear? They split up— right on their one year anniversary. How unromantic.” She pulled a grimace and waved a fingers-only goodbye. “Well, gotta jet. Sally Beauty Supply closes in fifteen minutes. Bye.”
Back. That jackwagon was coming back. Dane’s stomach went hot and then sour, like some kind of Chinese soup.
“Hey, friend.” Brooke climbed into the truck beside him. He hadn’t seen her walk up, too focused on his meltdown.
He was not the meltdown type. Ever. But his insides roiled. Insecurity made his shoulder blades pull together and a muscle in his neck pulse.
“I’m back,” Brooke said.
“So?” Keep it together. Play it cool. Dane Rockwell was cool. He put his truck in gear and accelerated quickly so the two-windows-down air conditioning could take effect as they peeled away from the law firm.
“So, Fawn said no. I couldn’t have it.”
“Argh. I knew it.” Dane muttered a curse word under his breath and pounded the steering wheel with his palm, sweat forming on his brow, all his cool hissing away like a broken AC coil. “That’s just great. Great! Now we have no will. Old Cloyd over at the bowling alley kept a death grip on our handwriting sample for comparison, and because of my lockout from Tweed Law— thanks to that harpy Mrs. Jackson, I’ve been isolated from my contacts.” He couldn’t even ask a favor from a former colleague to help represent her. He was persona non grata there, couldn’t show his face. No one wanted to be tainted by association.
With a balled fist, he punched the upholstery next to his left leg, anger raising his temperature about ten degrees. “And it’s killing me that I can’t go in there and shake down Fawn & Zimmerman for you.” His unhinged jaw kept flapping in all manner of uncool. “You deserve more than a friend, Brooke. I want you to be able to count on me.”
“I can count on you, Dane.” Brooke, the picture of calm and cool reached a hand over and rested it on his arm. He could breathe again. “Look.” She pulled out her phone.
There on her screen was a photo of the will.
“You…took that? They let you see it?”
“Yeah. They wouldn’t give me a copy— so I just made one when they weren’t looking.” She pulled a half-grin. “When you snapped that picture at the bowling alley, I paid attention. See? I learned from the best.”
Dane exhaled, his back sinking into the seat. “Wow.” His pulse slowed back to normal, except for little spikes when he thought about how much of a fit he’d just thrown. “Impressive work.”
Thanks to Brooke’s quick thinking, they— more or less— had the will. Add it to his photo of the scorecard, and they had the comparison sample.
It might be enough for Norvin North of Chincoteague, Maryland.
He swung the truck to the side of the road and pulled out his cell phone.
“What are you doing?”
“I would be kissing you for being brilliant, but…no. I’m confirming your appointment with Norvin North.”
“The handwriting expert?”
North might have been known for his expertise, but he wasn’t known for his discretion. Loose lips sink ships. But they’d have to deal with that. The short timeline might work in their favor, as long as LaBarge didn’t call and ask North directly what Brooke had brought him.
“That’s right. I hope he picks up.”
This had to work. It had to. With Crosby back in town— without a wife— helping Brooke win this case was Dane’s only chance to prove himself worthy. To show her that she needed him and no one else. And definitely not Doctor Jackwagon.
North answered his own phone. He sounded a hundred years old. Maybe he was retired, and that’s what took him to Chincoteague, a resort island, instead of an office in a crime-ridden city. Dane handed Brooke the phone, and she made the appointment.
“Great,” Dane said as he pulled back onto the road.
“Is there anything I should know?”
For a second he was thrown by the question. Yes, she should know that Ames Crosby was back in Maddox. To stay.
“Uh.” For a long moment he debated. Maybe he should tell her the truth about Crosby’s being back in town. Or not. Maybe telling her would be a mistake. What if it wasn’t even true?
Secrets always had weight.
Then he realized she was asking about what to do when she met with Mr. North.
“I guess just take him the two photographs.”
“We could print them out.”
“That’s a good idea. Try to get a high resolution.”
“We probably aren’t welcome back at the library to do that.” She had a glimmer in her eye. Yeah, she still wanted him— kissing ban or not.
The rumor about Crosby wormed underneath his skin, biting him. She ought to know.
They pulled back into Maddox, and Dane wheeled the Dodge into the alleyway behind Left Field.
“Brooke, I heard something today while you were in Fawn & Zimmerman.” He let her out of the passenger side, and she looked up at him, her brown eyes dewy and wide. Everything about her he needed, wanted, desired.
And to have her, honestly, he needed to be someone she could trust implicitly to always be open with her.
“What was it?” she asked.
“While I was waiting for you—”
“Hey, there.” Aunt Ruth bustled toward them. “I thought you’d never come sliding into home plate. Here.” She extended a hand to Brooke. “Looks important. Two scruffy-looking guys who claimed to be officers of the court just dropped it off.”
Brooke accepted it, but after a glance she handed it to Dane.
“I have no idea what it means,” she said. “Is it a joke?”
It was no joke. “They’re taking the ball.” %